Category Archives: Faith

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What Are We Wading For?

Our family was on vacation recently on the Gulf Coast of Florida. I love the beach, but I particularly love the Gulf Coast. The powder white sand is as gentle as snow flurries and the clear blue water takes my breath away. North Carolina beaches are fun for body surfing and boogie boarding, but the Gulf Coast waters just scream out “come in for a swim.” Why? Because the water is calm and clear so we can see what we are getting ourselves into.

We have all said to ourselves at one time or another that if we only knew what to expect next or what the future holds, life would be easier. The age old questions of what next and when next? The Gulf Coast clear blue water invites us to dive deep with all our might. I watched people kayak out so far they were barely larger than ants to the naked eye. People swam out farther than they could stand, climbed on floats and drifted gently with the surf. Carefree; because they knew what the immediate future held. They could see it before it came. They could retreat or remain adrift. In North Carolina most people stay about waist deep in the water, if that far. We have all stepped on too many fish, been tangled in seaweed or fishing line, and had too many “who knows what in the world that was” nip at our legs in the dark pounding surf to wade out very far. The North Carolina coastal waters hold secrets. It could be the desired fish lingering near bait we have cast into the waves or it could be the stingray we have seen pictures of and never wanted to see in person. It might be the perfect safe water we want, but we only wade in knee deep just because we see a reflection of what might be or might have been.

I began to see a striking parallel in life as I watched people along the Gulf Coast. The water that reaches the sand in North Carolina and the panhandle of Florida ultimately all comes from the same source, yet our approach is entirely different. In life we often timidly face our future based on our past. We’ve all been hurt at an unexpected time in an unexpected way and our defenses stay in protective mode for far too long. We’ve experienced losses of people, of jobs, of homes, of friendships or of our health and unconsciously we retreat. If our future was clear, clean and transparent, we would sprint forward and dive in, head first.

The source of life is always the same. God allows our first breath and He remains the source of our breath until He doesn’t allow it anymore. Yet we want to take control. Our instinct is to insist on holding the reigns and steering into a known path. In the same beautiful vision of our toes in the water on the Gulf Coast, God sees our toes in any water, even when they sink into the polluted muddy shores of Lake Norman. Why do we find it so hard to trust His perfect eyes and the plan that has been filtered through our Creator’s hands? How many times must He refine us before we sprint in, dive in deeper than we can stand and just float on His promises?

I don’t have the answer, but I want to be a person who can completely trust Him to guide me into waters he has cleaned for me, or promises He will cleanse for me. I want to be a person who knows it is better to give back the reigns that were never mine to try to grasp. I want to face life with the same confidence that we walk into the Gulf Coast water, knowing that the one who gave me my first breath will bring me through harsh currents and rip tides until I can carelessly remain adrift, floating on His promises from Romans 8:28 “to work everything for the good of those that love Him”.

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Copyright © Gatewood Campbell, July 2013

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Anniversaries

Anniversaries… dates that we recall for some special reason. Typically I think we relate anniversaries to celebrations. Often they are attached to sad or traumatic events. Whether the occasion marks happiness or sadness I think it’s worthy of recognition.

As this week passed, the 5 month anniversary of my Grandmother’s death passed. As I look forward to the weekend our family will remember the 75th anniversary of my Grandparent’s wedding. For the last 17 years this date has passed and she could only look back to the years they spent together. This year, at long last, I find comfort and peace that on their Diamond Anniversary my dear Emmer and Weed are reunited. He has been gone for many years now, but she still talked of how she would awaken in the night and try to be quiet so she wouldn’t disturb Weed’s sleep. Then she would realize he wasn’t there. Night after night, month after month, for 17 long years, she never got used to living without her groom. This year, this special year, on their Diamond Anniversary, we can all celebrate that young love has been rediscovered.

After 5 months I still miss Emmer. I still think about her at 9:15 every morning and often reach for the phone to call and wake her up. Sometimes I replay saved voicemails so I can just hear her strong voice. I wonder who has taken her weekly Wednesday 10:30 hair appointment. In the same way that her daily routine revolved around what she was doing with me, my daily routine revolved around what I was doing with her.

Adjustments and a gracious learning curve…that is the gift I have given myself over the last 5 months. Emmer used to have a saying when anyone hit a bump in the road. “It’s not an arm or a leg so we move on” and she would sort of shrug her shoulders. I’ve repeated that to myself many times. I’ve wondered what she might say to me if she could speak to me now. You know, I think she would say the same exact thing. I haven’t lost an arm and I haven’t lost a leg (though sometimes it may have felt like it) so I must remain grateful in ALL things, for all that I DO have. I must remain grateful for the years and life that I had with Emmer. I must glean from those years all that I can and then press on. In her 97 years she said goodbye to a LOT of treasured and dear friends. I watched her weep in loss and heartache and then laugh and reminisce.

Memories have carried me through darker days and her unique sense of humor has carried me into brighter days. What’s next? It’s always the million dollar question no matter where you are in life. My life has already defied many odds. My Grandmother lived past 97, my Mother is a leukemia survivor and I live with epilepsy everyday. “It’s not an arm or a leg” and I can’t imagine that God has washed His hands of me yet.

Heartache is heartache, no matter the cause. In hindsight, I can share of so many things I learned through epilepsy and my brain injury. Everyone in my family experienced heartache during those first few years. I know that was part of God’s plan for gaining insight I would need later in my life as I became Emmer’s constant companion. When my injuries forced me to walk away from my career, I couldn’t imagine what God what do with me. I was heartbroken. He mended my broken heart and made me stronger. He has taught me great lessons in this heartache. He has been mending my brokenness and He will beckon me to His next purpose for my life.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.”(Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, NIV)

So as we pass through a week marked with noteworthy anniversaries, I choose to focus on the celebration of reunions, the valuable lessons of heartache and the seasons of life God sees us through.

Copyright © Gatewood Campbell, June 2013

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…and Finally Going

God has been working on me, with me, and carrying me. His presence is evident to me in more ways than I can count. Honestly, sometimes the lessons are coming at me so fast and furious that it almost causes me to shut down because it’s more than I can swallow.

Easter came and went and we made it. I have been counting down the days until Mother’s Day, anxious for it to arrive and anxious to get through it. This was always Emmer’s special day where we rearranged our day to be with her however she wanted. With three generations of Moms now at two, it fell on my shoulders and Mom’s shoulders to decide how to celebrate Mother’s Day, which included remembering all that Emmer was and will continue to be through our lives.

The weatherman predicted rain, but as usual, he was wrong. It was a gorgeous day with sunshine and just the right amount of wind to keep it cool. Johnny grilled fabulous pineapple teriyaki burgers and shrimp skewers while we munched on Emmer’s favorite cheese straws. We topped off dinner with Hershey’s golden nuggets. For all who knew Emmer, I suspect you have already pictured in your head the small delicate gold basket that always held just a few chocolates which she always offered anytime you visited. We made it, and I think when I fell into bed Sunday night I finally felt myself exhale.

Yesterday I felt like I was ready to turn the page to a new chapter and take another step forward. Moving past Mother’s Day had given me strength. Running has been my “go-to” for almost 9 years. But I hadn’t run since Christmas. I had been out of town and then Emmer got sick. After she died, for a lot of reasons, I just didn’t want to run. Life and a busy sports schedule are keeping me at the ballpark every Saturday and the road had no appeal. A bit of fear about a seizure while running alone was creeping in as well. In my Mom’s ever so subtle way of encouraging me to run again she gave me a new pair of running shoes for Mother’s Day. Yesterday I decided my shoes needed breaking in. I laced them up and put on my new running shirt Mom bought me from the Boston Marathon Store on Boylston just a week after the bombings. I headed out the back door and hit start on my watch. One step at a time, one foot in front of the other. After about a half mile it began to feel a bit familiar. My goal wasn’t speed and it wasn’t distance. My goal was to just get the feel of the pavement. A little over 3 miles later I was back home. My shoulders felt a bit lighter and I think I may have been standing a little taller as I walked down the driveway cooling off.

I won’t promise myself or anyone else that I will be on the road today, but in time I will have the strength and the desire to return to regular programming. Yesterday’s run was a step in that direction. Grieving, growing, grooming, and now finally going. I’m not going to rush anything, because that accomplishes nothing. I’m taking my time, learning as I move forward and making sure that I take steps forward in my time the way that I need to. Emmer was a tremendous source of strength for me. Her loss is huge but I’m learning each day how to channel her strength and use it to propel me forward.

Grieving, growing, grooming and going. One day at a time, one step at a time. It’s all progress.

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Copyright © Gatewood Campbell, May 2013

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A Season of Grieving, Growing and Grooming

Spring is coming, slowly, but it is coming. Flowers are blooming, trees are providing shade and the ever present pollen indicates spring will be in full swing any day now. It’s the dawning of a new season.

Seasons change and sometimes the start of a new season is predictable and expected. We anticipate it and we know how to respond. Sometimes the start of a new season takes us by surprise. Those seasons can stop us in our tracks and grip us by circumstances beyond our control and outside of our imagination. For me, a track ended in Target, in Gymboree, at my Grandfather’s grave and at my Grandmother’s bedside the evening she passed.

Each time the track ended, I was paralyzed with fear and confusion. The rules of the world say you walk on, no matter what. The rules of faith say we walk on, even when the path is invisible. That’s what I did, I walked on the invisible path where God led me. Looking back there were obvious seasons I was walking beside God, in agreement with His path. Sometimes He was chasing me, pleading for my attention so I would return to His path. There have been many seasons I tiptoed behind Him, questioning every step and walking delicately as to not leave a footprint thinking I had surely been led astray. Then there were seasons that I followed behind him planting each foot firmly on the ground, knowing this was where He wanted me. I followed behind Him, because it was uncomfortable and I needed Him to motion for me, but His guidance was clear and so I was strong enough to walk strong and tall.

My fall changed my life. I thought it was a season of loss. Over the years, now looking back, I see it was actually a season of growth; growing in my faith and in following the invisible path that God had set before me. Sometimes there were forks in the road and I had to make choices. There were also paths that had no choice. I had to trust God and step out.

This has been a season of grieving, growing and grooming. The loss of my Grandmother took me by surprise. I still reach for the phone every morning at 9:15 and my car naturally heads north on Tuesdays and Fridays. I will always miss her and that won’t change. What will eventually change is how I miss her and how firmly I’m able to step forward each day knowing that God walks ahead of me, motioning for me to move forward with Him.

I’m growing in my faith as I immerse myself in God’s word and sit in silence while He speaks to me. His messages, though from a variety of sources, all have common themes. This is a season for me to remain still and quiet while he strengthens me with His love and understanding. He is mending my broken heart and refueling me with His perfect love.

I’m confident God is grooming me for something. I’m approaching another fork in the road, yet this time there is no choice for me to make or to control. God is sovereign. Romans 8:28 tells us “We know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose”. He has carried me through a gazillion seasons that have brought me here and He won’t abandon me now.

I expected the arrival of spring. I didn’t expect to lose my Grandmother. The loss is greater because our love was deeper and so the sting is deeper. When this season in my life ends, God will bring me forth into a new season and I will be stronger having been gripped by the healing power of His perfect unconditional love and His greatness. God expected the arrival of spring and He chose the day when He called my Grandmother home.

In this season of grieving, growing and grooming, God is still working all things together for good to those who love God.

Copyright © Gatewood Campbell, May 2013

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At the Cross…again

February never passes by without some introspective thoughts. FYI- Don’t look for me in Target tomorrow. I’m not very superstitious and I don’t believe that because something happens once it will happen again, but I certainly don’t push my luck when I can help it.

As upturned as my life became on February 28, 2005, I did finally settle into a happy, rewarding and satisfied new world. It took almost 2 years to sort it out and know where God wanted me. When I was brought to a crossroads, God led me to the Cross. When I chose the road less traveled I knew His blessings were on me and He would carry me into unchartered territory. He would carry my burdens and hold me in His tender care during those uncomfortable months until I became settled.

I enjoyed every moment of the next 2 years while I still had Hunter had home with me. Having been a working mom when Justin was little, I cherished the days Hunter and I had together and we anxiously awaited the big yellow bus every afternoon when Justin would get home.

When Hunter started school, I flinched momentarily, wondering what moments would take my breath away just as being at home with the boys had. The transition was short as we all realized I had been created for such a time as this. My Grandmother was well into her 90’s and though she kept a busy social schedule, it was obvious she needed a bit of help to make her day to day life a bit easier. Everyone knew, without even discussing it, that I would help fill this role in her life while my boys were in school.

It’s worth noting here that I have realized some things about my Grandparents that I had not before adequately acknowledged. Since my Grandmother’s death, I have poured over family mementos they left behind. They were smart, intuitive and wise beyond their years. Quite frankly, they just seemed to know how our roles would play out before it was even reasonable to think that far ahead.

I was reading the Workman family genealogy that my Grandfather spent his retirement researching back to the early 1700’s and when our descendants left Ireland in 1772 and arrived in America. While my Grandmother was busy as “an indefatigable worker toward establishing a Retirement Community in Davidson” (my Grandfather’s own description of his bride in our genealogy), he kept himself busy researching in grand detail our family. He then, nearly legally blind himself, painstakingly typed on an old school manual typewriter everything he had unearthed. On December 12, 1986 he gave each of us his finished work, photocopied and assembled in a simple 3 hole punched paper notebook. As I flipped through the pages I found myself, Mary Gatewood Payne (II, D, 4, c, (8) (d) 2, *b) ….I told you it is detailed! Then I read his description of me when I was only 13 years old, “Mother of us all.” My mind raced back to that moment in front of his grave when God spoke to me at a crossroads in my life and told me which direction to follow. And now here I see in black and white, I think my Grandfather knew all along which road I would take.

When my Grandmother moved into healthcare over 2 years ago we worked quickly to pack up and move all her personal belongings from her apartment. As I was cleaning out their old cedar chest from storage and packing up books, photo albums and the massive amount of things my Grandfather kept from his time serving in WWII as Chaplain on the USS Granville, I came across some books wrapped up in a white garbage bag. The label on the bag read “For Gatewood (my caretaker). My scrapbook and senior year college annual. Love, Emmer”. That cedar chest had not been opened in years and the white bag was in the very bottom. “My caretaker”, how in the world could she have known that was the role I would fill in her life? I knew she had labeled the bag long before the events in my life led me to her side. How did she know? How did he know when I was 13 that I was being molded and shaped to become a mother to more than just my own children? Wise and intuitive beyond their years!

She became more than a Grandmother over these last years. She was my friend, and we had a connection that was visible to those who saw us together. I could hear in her voice what she needed before she even told me. She knew when things were going on in our lives even when we didn’t tell her. On many occasions she would call me early in the morning because she had been awakened in the night and knew one of her children, grandchildren or great-grandchildren was in need. I learned quickly not to try to play off her instincts. She knew that she knew, and she was not one with whom you tried to sugar coat the obvious. I miss her. Her loss is huge and none of us realized the extensive impact our beloved matriarch had during her 97 years.

So here I am, 8 years after the accident that led me to her. She has finally been reunited with her groom and she has found everlasting peace. I’m fairly certain they are enjoying their afternoon cocktails and unsalted Planters peanuts (served out of old peanut jar lids so it’s portioned appropriately) together again. And, I am at another crossroads; where grief, anger and denial meet with the road that leads me into the unknown. I keep thinking I will unearth some note from years earlier where she has written what is next for me when she is gone. My role as a granddaughter has come to an end. In some ways it feels similar to the time when my role as an employee ended. But this time, even as I sit at the Cross, I haven’t heard God’s direction for this crossroad. The silence is painful, but when He has not answered then I know His answer for now is to wait.

My resumé is a little shorter now, wife, mother and daughter. Tomorrow will come and go, not without a lot of memories to pass the time, but tomorrow will end. It will mark another moment in time where I’m trying to embrace change, accept my brain injury, live with epilepsy and learn to wait.

Copyright © Gatewood Campbell, April 2013